Alexei wished he could tell the boy that it was so. That they were going to make everything all right again. But nothing would ever be all right again, no matter what his aura claimed. And if they could not find the Rose, if Porfiry clung to his revenge till his dying breath, there would be nothing any of them could do.
Even if they found it, a voice within him whispered, nothing would bring back what had been lost. The innocence of their culture had been destroyed and Alexei could not fix that. He could not bring back thousands of dead, could not restore slaves to their families or wipe away memories of horror.
“We are going to try,” he said instead, smiling sadly. “And we are not going to give up, not while we have any reason to hope.”
“Just say the word then if you want yon beggar’s toes held to the fire,” Malichai announced cheerfully. “Not that I’m a man that enjoys such things, but I’m willing to make an exception for black-hearted villains who deserve to hang from their own guts till their eyes pop out and they scream for someone to run them through with a red-hot poker because it might end their suffering.” He winked at Wilder, who was staring at him with wide-eyed dismay.
“Noted, my bloodthirsty friend,” Alexei said dryly. He knew Malichai quite well enough by now to realize that the comment was for Porfiry’s benefit. The giant warrior would never cook something he couldn’t eat and would only kill a man in a fair fight.
But Wilder, without an aura to read, had no way of knowing this.
“Wilder, before you decide to be frightened of our resident berserker, you might ask him about his three greatest fears.”
Wilder looked back at Malichai.
“That’s easy,” Malichai said promptly. “Losing a fight to fewer than three men, breaking my bow, or losing my Loraleen. Oh, and that someday I will meet a beautiful woman I adore, and she won’t like my cooking. That’s four, but it wouldn’t have been fair to leave any of them out.”
“Now,” Alexei continued, not really caring whether Porfiry was listening or not, “does that sound to you like a man who would engage in gruesome torture?”
Wilder grinned. “No,” he whispered, jerking a grimy thumb in Porfiry’s direction, “but he doesn’t know that!”
Alexei laughed along with the others, but his heart wasn’t in it. They were getting so close. Perhaps tomorrow, the towers would be in view. And he didn’t know if he would be able to bear it.
Chapter 4
Zara gave the tiny door a halfhearted push as she passed, and, as expected, it didn’t budge. Shadow shot a disgusted look over her shoulder, and Zara scowled back.
“You can’t expect me to stop trying,” she insisted. “Not until you tell me why you’ve trapped me here. And I know it’s you, so don’t try to deny it.”
The cat walked on, down the narrow corridor that ran along the outside wall of the castle. Every other door in the castle, Zara had been able to unlock or had simply found open. But any door to the outside? Might as well have been an illusion.
She had followed the cat over most of the castle by now, waiting patiently as her four-footed companion sniffed in corners and rubbed against walls, with no indication of what, if anything, they were looking for. As they searched, Zara memorized as much of the castle’s layout as she could, and amused herself by imagining it as it might have been.
There would have been furniture, of course, and rugs everywhere—deep, thick rugs in bright colors to warm the cold stone. There would have been art and music and conversation. Laughter and tears and shouting. Night and day, fire and shadow. It would have been warm. And there would have been food. Mounds of delicious, freshly cooked food.
She tried not to think about food, not often, but the fare had long since grown difficult to choke down. Shadow still shared Zara’s dinner, but these days the cat was getting more than half of what she prepared. It was a wonder the creature wasn’t growing fat.
The cat had begun to spend more time in the kitchen, ever since the incident in the pedestal room, as Zara had named it. And Zara was grateful for the company, even if she did occasionally wonder whether she should be. Harboring fond thoughts of her jailer was probably in poor taste, no matter what shape the jailer wore.
When she finally reached the end of the outer passage, Shadow hissed quietly and trotted back towards the entry hall. It renewed Zara’s impression that the cat was looking for something—something she needed Zara to help her find. But unless Shadow could find a way to tell her what it was, Zara had no idea how to help.
“You know, I’d be happy to come to some sort of agreement, if you like,” she said casually. “I feel like you need me for something, and that’s why you’ve trapped me here.” The cat ignored her. “I’d be delighted to help. I’m good at finding things.” Shadow shot her a dirty look, as if she was, indeed, aware of Zara’s profession. Zara felt embarrassed until she remembered she was talking to a cat. “And I don’t want to stay here forever. I’m sure it’s a lovely castle, but I need more than myself for company.” She hastened to add: “More people, that is. I’m grateful not to be entirely alone, but talking to animals is generally not considered normal. Besides, my father may be worried about me.” She doubted that was true, but Shadow didn’t know it. “And I won’t last forever on a diet of jerked beef stew.” That much was definitely true.
Shadow stalked on ahead, lashing her tail.
“Let’s make a deal. You tell me what you need, and I’ll help you. All you have to do is unlock the doors after it’s over and I get to go free. I promise I won’t leave until after I find what you’re looking for.”
The cat turned to glare at her, eyes narrowed, tail still lashing. Shadow was clearly thinking deep, feline thoughts.
“Can you draw me a picture? Help me understand what you’re thinking? Even if you can’t draw with paws, you seem smart enough to find some way to tell me.”
Shadow stalked off again, head held high, so Zara rolled her eyes and followed. She refused to feel guilty. Cats were clearly far too easily offended.
Offended or not, that night Shadow did not leave the kitchen after dinner. Even when Zara drew off her boots and lay down on her blankets in front of the fire, the cat remained, basking in the warmth.
“I’m willing to share,” Zara offered, pointing to one side of her bed. “If you’d prefer this to the hard floor.”
Shadow rose and stretched carefully, looked around, washed her paws for a moment, then sauntered closer, trying to look uninterested.
“Hah!” Zara grinned at her companion. “You might not actually be a cat, but most of the time you certainly act like one.”
The creature did not stoop to bestow her notice on such a comment, only sat, carefully, on the edge of the blanket.
Zara grinned. “Good night, Shadow. Pleasant dreams. If you have them.” The last thing she remembered seeing was Shadow’s eyes, gleaming in the dark as they reflected the wavering glow of the coals.
Zara blinked and looked around, wondering at the brightness of the light. There were windows, high above, and they were clean, allowing her to catch glimpses of blue sky and an occasional white cloud. She lowered her gaze. The walls around her seemed familiar, but changed. They were stone, but there were tapestries to soften their harsh gray surfaces. Every corner of the room held something green and growing, and the floor was covered in a deep blue rug.
Looking down at herself, Zara observed without much surprise that she was seated, and wearing a dress that matched her surroundings. The elaborate embroidery on her white bodice was a dark purple, and she could feel soft silken trousers beneath her pale lavender skirt. Her hands were even clean and unscarred, which was her first clue that she was dreaming.
She looked up again and saw a woman sitting across from her, in a chair that could only be described as a throne. Though perhaps it was more the occupant than the chair that gave that impression.
The woman was utterly unfamiliar, and yet Zara knew her, in the uncanny way of dreams. The stranger’s e
xpression was remote, but her green eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Zara’s face, suggesting watchfulness. Her age was indeterminate, somewhat older than Zara’s own thirty years, but she wore an air of unquestionable command along with her night-blue dress. Her thick gray hair was braided and wrapped around her head like a crown, and there was a short staff in her hand—a gold-banded length of polished stone that glittered in the sunlight.
“Where am I?” Zara wondered aloud, her gaze darting around the room to see if they were alone.
“In your own head, child,” the woman said. “Where else would we be?”
“In yours?” Zara suggested flippantly. She didn’t like the sound of the other woman’s dismissal. “I’ve certainly never used mine to picture myself in such a ridiculous costume.” She thought about it some more and lifted a hand to her neck, her face and her hair. Sure enough, she was wearing some sort of necklace and her normally braided white hair was piled in an elaborately curled mass atop her head. A bracelet of deep purple gems glittered against her wrist.
“You would not last long in my head, as you put it,” the other woman retorted dryly. “I wasn’t certain I had enough strength to establish even this tenuous hold on yours.”
“What are you doing to me?” Zara demanded, leaning forward in her dream chair with a flash of anger.
“What you asked,” the woman replied coolly. “You wanted to find a way to talk.”
Zara stared at her. This was a dream, of course.
“And before you deny my existence, you should know that your cooking tastes terrible. I wouldn’t eat it if I didn’t need to establish a connection between us.”
“You might look like a woman,” Zara returned, “but you still act like a cat.”
The woman smiled. “I am glad to see you are taking this well. There are very few who could have accepted me for what I am, in such a short time. And my time was running out, so I had little choice. But you are strong and I have hope that you will be able to help me after all.”
“Yes,” Zara answered, “but I’m clearly insane. Utterly and completely bonkers. I’ve been following a cat around this castle for days and now I’m dreaming about talking to her.”
“This is not truly a dream,” the woman stated calmly. “It might more properly be called a vision, though you do not have the talent for a true vision so I was forced to improvise.”
“Very well.” Zara leaned back and folded her arms, noticing as she did so the softness of the chairback behind her shoulders. “I’m willing to believe you, but not because you say so. I simply don’t dream about silk and velvet, and I don’t wear jewelry. What would you like to discuss?”
“Your purpose here, of course.” The woman acted as if Zara were quite dim for asking. “I have kept you here for a reason, as you have already grown to suspect. I need your help—your hands—to find something that is lost to me.”
“Why does a cat need possessions?” Zara asked curiously.
“You know very well that I am not a cat, as you have mentioned several times in my hearing,” the woman retorted.
“Then what are you?” Even in the dream, Zara’s heart pounded as she awaited the answer to her question.
“I do not know if I can explain it to you, mundane as you are.” The woman frowned. She seemed to have a distaste for being thwarted, whether by her own limitations or by Zara’s.
And what did she mean mundane? That Zara was not a sorcerer, as the Erathi had been? She could only be thankful for that!
“I am what you might call… an avatar.” The woman who was Shadow seemed to settle on the word reluctantly. “A representation of something large and powerful that cannot exist fully on the physical plane.”
“Like… a goddess?” Zara asked, wide-eyed.
“Not exactly.” The woman hissed a laugh, a very cat-like sound. “I am…” She gestured at the walls around them. “I am myself. I am the life in the stones and the shape of the magic that wrought them. I am the many years of dedication and sacrifice that have been poured into this place. I am the love of the land and the hope of the future, the tapestry of ties from person to person and from thousands of souls to their hearth and soil.”
Zara’s mouth opened and closed. She might not know anything about magic, but that seemed like a lot of power. “Then what could you possibly want with me?” she whispered.
“I do not know what I can do with you,” the woman said with a sigh that seemed to settle into the stones of the floor. “I had not anticipated that I could be awakened by one with so little power as you have.”
“So little?” Zara echoed with a laugh. “Let us be honest with one another and say none. I know nothing of magic.”
“Oh, you have some.” The woman waved a hand, dismissing Zara’s protest. “Not much, and nothing that you would ever have been aware of had you not come here and slept on my stones for so many days. But it was sufficient for me to appear to you in a physical form, and to gain enough strength from you to share this vision.”
“You’re using me?” Zara asked, not at all pleased by this revelation. “For my magic? Will you get stronger and stronger until I wither away altogether?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” the woman replied, lifting the back of her hand to her mouth briefly, then lowering it with a start.
Zara stifled a laugh. She would have sworn the woman had forgotten she did not have paws to lick.
“Those who have lived here have always taken strength from me, as I have taken strength from them. We grow stronger and deeper together. My people defend me as I defend them. Each has something the other needs, and I would not be so foolish as to destroy my only hope of remaining awake and aware.”
So, the woman—no, the castle—needed her. She needed Zara, a treasure hunter who had invaded the walls of a sentient fortress with the intent to steal her riches and sell them for profit.
“You know what I am,” Zara stated boldly, lifting her chin and looking into the green eyes of the avatar across from her. She wondered how her father might have responded to a conversation where the castle he had intended to rob was staring back at him. “And surely you know why I came here. Why would you trust me? Why choose me for this?”
“Well, you can stop imagining it was for any sterling qualities,” the woman returned tartly. “I know you are a treasure hunter. That you steal from the dead and profit from their sorrow.”
Zara cringed. She didn’t think she could explain how very little she profited. How very little she wanted to.
“But,” the woman went on, “your people were the first to breach my walls since my last caretaker died. She was a worthy guardian, and I had a great reserve of strength at the last, enough to sustain me through the shock of her death and preserve me as I waited for her successor. But too many years passed. I became too weak to keep out those who wished to take these halls for themselves, and I was desperate. I was barely aware enough to realize that you had a tiny spark of magic, enough to form a connection so that I could rouse myself and drive the others out.” She was looking over Zara’s shoulder, her eyes unfocused as if remembering. “It took some time to gain enough from your presence that I could appear to you in any form. Maintaining a physical avatar—even one so small and simple as a cat—is costly, but it was necessary for you to accept me. Once you acknowledged me, trusted me, I began strengthening the bond between us so that we could progress faster. But it may all be for naught.”
“What do you mean?” Zara was still attempting to absorb the idea that she was a living, breathing energy source for a magical castle.
“I cannot find it.” The woman’s eyes snapped open and in them was something like fear. “We have been through every room, every hall, every cellar, and it is not there. I can feel it, but somehow it is still beyond my reach.”
“What is? Maybe if you describe it I can help.”
A breath hissed between the woman’s lips and her eyes narrowed a trifle. “I am not a fool, treasure hunter. We might be forced by
this bond to cooperate, but I will not put myself in your hands and risk a thousand years of sacrifice being destroyed in an instant of mercenary greed.”
Zara felt angry, ashamed and defensive all at once. “I do not steal!” she burst out hotly. “I would never take from any person by force, let alone someone in need.”
“And how do you know, little treasure hunter, what it is you do when you take? How do you know what bonds have been broken, what seals have been turned to dust? Had I not bonded with you, you might have gone on believing me nothing but an empty heap of stone and never known what complex magic there is in memory and sacrifice.”
“No,” Zara admitted, “I likely would not have known. But for all that, you truly are a heap of stone. You are deep and enormous and powerful, so you cannot understand what it is to be weak and limited and without options. I do what I must so that I can eat and drink and sleep in a place where I will not freeze during the winter. I will not apologize for surviving, any more than you will, though you stole my freedom from me when you imprisoned me here.”
The avatar appeared startled. “I have given far more than I have taken,” she insisted. “Our bond is not merely one of taking, as I explained.”
“No, you really have not explained,” Zara answered. “Whatever bond you speak of, it was made without my permission. And I have no idea how to use it, or what good it might do me. I do not want to stay here forever, silent and alone, simply because you need a source of energy.”
Fingers tapped the arm of the throne-like chair as the woman considered. “Very well,” she said abruptly. “You have helped me to realize what I must do.” She smiled, which, being a very cat-like smile, did not reassure Zara in the slightest. “We will make a bargain, as you requested.”
“And do I have the right to refuse?” Zara asked.
The woman stared at her and brought the stone rod to rest on her silk-clad knee. “Yes,” she said finally, though it was an uncertain yes. “Yes, I will grant you that right, but if you refuse I fear that I cannot ever unlock these doors. You must understand—had I been aware enough to realize what I was doing, I would never have bonded you against your will, and yet, there is no changing it now. If you were to leave me here alone, I would die and there would be no bringing me back.”
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